


If it's the last thing I do

by aliciutza, Dragon_and_Direwolf, TheScarletGarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (implicitly because we are all Jonerys shippers here), AGOT & end of ADWD, Canon Divergent, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Gen, Original Artwork, POV Arya Stark, POV Ned Stark, R Plus L Equals J | Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are Jon Snow's Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 03:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: After confronting Queen Cersei about the parentage of her children, Ned finds himself in a delicate situation. His words to the queen might have sealed his fate, but maybe it is not too late to rectify his biggest regret: having lied to Jon about his parentage. But with so many eyes on him in King's Landing, and his son at the other end of Westeros, his possibilities of coming clean to Jon are limited. His saving grace comes in the form of reaching out to his other surviving family: Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen. His hours numbered, he decides to reveal everything in a letter. All that is left is to pray to the old gods that the words will one day reach his son.
Relationships: Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen (referenced)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 100





	If it's the last thing I do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LustOnMyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/gifts).



> Happy birthday, lovely dear! You're the best friend anyone could hope to have, and we're immensely lucky to have your sweet, caring, witty, fun presence in our lives. Enjoy this day! With all our love, your European wives. ❤❤❤
> 
> A bit of a different fic, since it's an AU of pre-Jonerys events covered from other points of view. Of course it all means that they technically get to meet so much earlier than in canon 👀, hence the "Eventual/Implied Jonerys". 
> 
> Writing by aliciutza and TheScarletGarden.  
> Amazing original art by Dragon_and_Direwolf.

The Red Keep was still at night, the halls and chambers barely seeming to belong to the same castle when illuminated only by the candlelight. Ned appreciated the quiet, the way this despicable place only seemed to become bearable when everyone else was sleeping. But even in the comforting silence of the night, punctuated only by the soft footsteps of some handmaiden, he couldn’t shake the mounting feeling of dread from his heart.

His eyes were staring into the fire, unseeing, a hand mindlessly stroking his wounded leg. He realised now how his actions had been far too careless, how dangerous it had been to openly confront the queen about her children’s legitimacy. His skin still tingled from her unwelcome touch, just above his good knee. If he was someone other than Eddard Stark, he might have taken such an opportunity. It would have been his saving grace, if only he could have taken it with a clear conscience.

_"Did you make the same offer to Jon Arryn?"_ —his own ill-considered words to the queen came back to haunt him. His cheek still stung from the force of her slap.

Ned could see now who was the true monarch of the Seven Kingdoms. _And I have challenged the Lannister name._ For too long he’d ignored the South, thinking that the distance alone was enough to keep him and his family safe from the machinations of the lions. Ignorance had never been bliss. He should have paid more attention; he should have never left his old friend alone in Tywin Lannister’s claws—Robert was too impressionable, his hatred for the Targaryens too big of a weakness for it to be left unutilised. He should have—

The logs in the hearth cracked; sparks detached from the embers and flew out, dancing into the darkened room until they burnt to nothing.

_I have been a fool._

As long as Robert was alive, House Stark would be safe, but something told Ned he shouldn’t bet the fate of his family’s survival on that of his old friend. The queen’s words echoed in his mind again with a sense of foreboding. It was too late now.

A terrible fear squeezed his heart, tight as a vice. He thought of his sweet daughters, sound asleep in the adjacent room, unaware of their father’s mistakes, of the adults’ sins. He had already secured them safe passage North on a boat, but somehow the knowledge wasn’t enough to still the turmoil in Ned’s chest.

He thought of his wife and firstborn son, Winterfell’s wellbeing resting upon their shoulders while he was busy navigating this viper’s nest. His sweet children, all awaiting their father’s return, trusting in him to keep them safe from harm.

And _Jon…_ the thought of him was the most painful, guilt-ridden as it was. The boy was the spitting image of his unfortunate mother, born a prince, and yet ended up in the most dreadful of all places to become a man.

_And all because I couldn’t do any better._ Ned dragged his hands over his face. _Lya, I’ve failed you._

It was too late in the game for him to even attempt coming up on top. At most, he could hope for survival, although something already told him it was too late to save himself. But what would become of his family? The dangers lurking in the shadows were far too many and far too cruel to face for his children, who were not yet men and women grown. And Catelyn… Just the thought of her made him smile.

_Cat will protect them. I know she’s strong._

His words to the queen might have irrevocably sealed his fate, but he trusted that his lady wife would guide Robb into being a wise, just lord. Together, they would be strong enough to protect House Stark, once they were all reunited.

Still, that left Jon an outcast again, as he’d been for his entire life. Ned sighed. Jon would always be his biggest regret. He couldn't help but feel that he had failed to protect him. Was he still lying to protect Jon or was he just lying to assuage his own guilt over having hidden the truth for too long?

He had hoped he would be safe at the Wall with both a Stark and a Targaryen guarding over him, but now it seemed so little, such feeble protection… Ned feared he couldn’t count for much longer on only a grieving ranger and an ancient man for whom every day lived was a victory against death.

How terrible the destiny of the Targaryen children had been, those who were not murdered were alone and vulnerable at opposite sides of the world, not knowing they still had family to rely on… And he’d helped perpetuate those lies.

His mind skipped from memory to memory like a stone on a lake’s surface, trying to determine the moment it all went wrong. How many nights had he lost just doing that, in an attempt to somehow do better? It was futile, because for years he’d refused to do the one thing he knew would at least right some of the wrongs: tell Jon the truth about his mother.

Ned’s heart wept for the two exiled Targaryens: Viserys and Daenerys. Somehow, they were still alive, and if Robert’s sources were to be trusted—although he still couldn’t put much faith in the words of Jorah Mormont—the princess was now married to a Dothraki khal. He found himself hoping she’d have a better marriage than that of her mother, but something told him that whatever would come out of being sold into marriage that young, couldn't be love. He hesitated, thinking back to Aerys’ madness. What if Viserys was prone to the same cruelty? After all, what kind of brother would do such a thing to his own sister?

His mind wandered then to Queen Rhaella, whose goodness and kindness knew no bounds. He could only hope that Daenerys had inherited her mother’s heart. Perhaps she could protect their nephew in some way or the other. Nevertheless, of one thing Ned was now convinced: Jon deserved to know the truth and he deserved to know that he still had family from his father’s side. And if his aunt couldn’t protect him, then the vastness of the Essosi lands would, big enough to hide a lost prince until he learned to protect himself from the storm that was coming.

He _owed_ Jon the opportunity to choose for himself once he learned the truth. And should Ned lose his head, at least he’d feel a little more at peace, knowing that he’d tried to right this wrong. He knew that he was taking a big risk writing a secret that in the hands of the wrong person would put Jon’s life at stake, but he feared that otherwise, the knowledge would die with him. He only had himself to blame for waiting this long to reveal it. Now, he could only hope that should it fall in the wrong hands, Jon would be able to survive it as Viserys and Daenerys did.

With a deep breath, he made for the small table by the window and started writing. Thinking of Jon and his reaction to reading the words was almost too painful. Instead, he set on imagining what he would say if Daenerys was in front of him. After the first paragraph, the words just poured out of his quill. He signed his name, then copied the contents to another piece of parchment. By the time he sealed the second missive, it was dawn.

After debating with himself most of the morning, he finally decided to give one letter to one of his younger guards. Entrusting such a task to Tomard, his captain, would be a mistake. Ned knew that his absence would raise too many questions. That evening, he asked for Gariss instead. Although young, Ned knew him to be loyal and steadfast.

“Leave tonight. I do not trust the morrow,” Ned dug a satchel of coins from one of his coffers and pushed it into the boy’s hands. Then he gave him the sealed letter. “Find Princess Daenerys Targaryen and make sure she reads this letter. You mustn’t let anyone but her see the letter.”

Gariss’ brow furrowed, but he nodded, always dutiful. “Yes, my Lord.”

Ned sighed. “I wish I had a clear destination in mind. The latest accounts place her with the Dothraki. Pentos is the closest port. Once you reach it, you should be able to find your way to Vaes Dothrak.”

“I shall not fail you, my Lord,” Gariss said, determined.

He clasped the young man’s arm in thanks and sent him off. Ned prayed that the old gods would grant him safe passage to find the princess.

As he escorted Gariss out of his chambers, movement from the shadows caught his eye. Ned smiled, knowing exactly the identity of the intruder.

Once the guard left, he cleared his throat, “Septa Mordane fell asleep, I gather?”

Silence.

“Just come inside, Arya,” Ned simply said as he went back to his chambers. He sat in front of the hearth, stretching his injured leg. A few moments later, his youngest daughter sheepishly snuck inside, closing the door with a soft click.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Arya supplied, although he did not ask.

He motioned for her to join him. “What’s on your mind?”

Arya jumped up on his good knee and settled against his side burrowing her nose in his neck as she used to do when she was younger. “I miss home,” she sighed. “And I miss Jon,” she added in a small voice.

Ned swallowed around the hurt. He should have never come South—yet another mistake on his part. But he hoped he still had time to undo this one. He _had to_ at least have faith that his daughters would make it safely out of King’s Landing.

“I miss him too,” he eventually replied, a soft whisper against his daughter’s forehead. The second letter burned from where he put it for safekeeping against his chest. _At least Jon will always have Arya on his side._

An idea took root in his mind just then. “Arya, can you keep a secret?”

The girl nodded eagerly.

“What do I always tell you and your siblings?”

“Don’t fight in the mud if we don’t want mother to scold us—”

“Not that, little wolf,” Ned chuckled. “What does it mean to be a Stark?”

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she proclaimed proudly.

“Indeed.” It pained him to entrust her with such a task, but since he sat and wrote the two letters, he knew he couldn’t put all his faith in one single man. He needed all the help in King’s Landing. Sparing Gariss was already exposing his safety, should it come to a fight. And two missing men would surely raise suspicions. But he could give the other letter to Arya for safekeeping.

“I am trusting you with a letter. No one can know about it.” He hoped his eyes conveyed the urgency and seriousness of his words.

Arya frowned. “Not even Sansa?”

He shook his head. “ _No one_. I want you to keep this letter safe for me…” he swallowed thickly. “And when you see Jon, I want you to give it to him.”

Arya’s eyes lit up at her brother’s name. “I will not disappoint you, father,” she proclaimed.

Ned couldn’t stop his smile. “I know you won’t.”

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and trusted it into her small hands. After rolling it between her fingers and studying it with big grey eyes, she stuffed it into her boot. A nagging thought occurred to him just then: what if she couldn’t reach Jon? He knew that once Arya put her mind to something, she’d make sure to carry through. But what if her destiny forced her even farther away from the Wall, perhaps all the way out of Westeros?

Just as an afterthought, just to be safe that his daughter would have the choice should she find herself at a crossroads, he added: “There is one more person who is allowed to ever see the letter, should you ever cross paths: and that is Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

He chuckled at how Arya’s eyes widened just then. He knew how much she loved the Targaryens. Ned could see the myriad of questions dancing in her eyes, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to answer them. “Just the two of them. Once one of them reads it, they will tell you what it says if they choose to. Understood?”

Arya nodded. “It will be our secret.”

“Thank you. Now off you go, before your Septa notices you’re gone.” He took her in his arms and silently carried her back to her bed.

That night, for the first night in years, Ned’s soul felt just a little lighter. The future was uncertain, still, but a burden had been lifted from his chest and entrusted to parchment. To fate, even.

Ned hoped that the gods would heed his prayers, at last.

* * *

_The Narrow Sea was unpredictable and fickle like a god._

_Some days, it looked calm and smooth as a board, a blue expanse dotted with white foam, the reflected glow of the sun, and howling seagulls. On those days, the sea was said to place its blessing on sailors, guiding ships to their safe harbour, gentle wave after wave after wave._

_Other days, however, the calmness shattered. The air cracked with energy, flashes of white splitting the sky, the rage within the sea’s depths surging to the surface, swelling its dark waves immensely, so high and imposing as to rival the Titan of Braavos. The stoutest ships looked like children's toys in those days, splintered pieces of wood in the hands of a capricious god, their torn sails like an epitaph that would lie eternally on the seabed._

_It was on one of such unfortunate days that Gariss lost his young life, swallowed by the sea with the ship carrying Eddard Stark's hopes to Essos, and the piece of parchment guarding his last written words._

* * *

**The Great Pyramid of Meereen, three years later**

Arya shifted uncomfortably on her feet. The guards had told her it would be a long wait, she just didn’t expect it would take _this_ long. She’d been waiting for hours, standing just outside what she suspected was the throne room. She’d watched men and women—and even children—make their way through the big wooden doors when their name was called. Some took mere moments, others took longer. Yet they all came out of the room with _hope_ glistening in their eyes.

Daenerys Targaryen’s reputation preceded her. Depending on who you asked, she was either the greatest queen—some even going as far as proclaiming she was a _mother_ to her subjects—or a terrible tyrant. Arya learned a while ago that in the eyes of evil men, good rulers were often seen as tyrants. She would never forget how the Lannisters painted her father—her sweet, generous and _good_ father.

She shook her head to rid herself of the images from the day of his unjust execution. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, someone motioned to her that it was her turn.

The throne room was not what she expected. She couldn't help but think about Robert Baratheon on his ugly iron throne, surrounded by double-faced courtiers and opportunist lords. Instead of being perched on an ostentatious chair, Queen Daenerys sat on what looked more of a simple wooden bench.

The queen was not what she had envisioned, either: younger than what her reputation led to imagine, her petite figure was wrapped in clothes that, albeit exquisitely made, were a far cry from the opulence that she had seen in King’s Landing. Her smile was sweet, but her eyes, bright with the colour of amethysts, held a strength in them that reminded Arya of that of her own mother.

_She was no pampered princess,_ Arya remembered. _We both paved our journeys with tears and blood._

Two guards flanked the queen from a respectful distance, while a handful of Unsullied stood behind them. To the side, a young girl—no older than Arya herself, she reckoned—introduced the queen, prattling off various titles: “Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains.” Arya would be lying if she said that her pulse didn’t quicken at the mention of dragons. So far she hadn’t seen them. Perhaps once she carried out her father’s task, she could ask the queen to show them to her.

“Please state your name,” the same girl said to Arya.

“My name is Arya Stark,” she announced with a clear voice.

Three things happened at once: one of the guards drew his sword, the Unsullied took the cue from who she assumed was their captain and shifted in attack position, and the other guard next to the queen gasped.

Arya took a bow, then raised her hands in surrender. “If I may speak freely, my Queen.”

Daenerys raised her hand so the captain would stand at ease; the Unsullied remained in position.

“I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I come with a message for you, from my father, the late Lord Eddark Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North.”

For a moment, no one in the room said anything or moved. Eventually, the queen spoke, in a sweet yet strong voice. “What should the late Lord Stark want from me? The Usurper’s friend surely cannot be a friend to the last of the Targaryens.”

“Your Grace,” the guard who stood on her left side finally spoke. Arya could have sworn his face looked familiar. “If I may.”

The queen turned to him and inclined her head once.

“How do we know you are who you say you are? Lord Stark’s daughters were with him in King’s Landing when he died,” he said, his Westerosi accent prominent. If only she could remember where she’d seen him. “We were told no one survived.”

Arya fought against cringing at the memory of her darkest day. “In my satchel, I have a letter for Queen Daenerys. It bears my father’s sigil. I trust you to be able to recognise it,” she challenged him.

The old guard looked at the Queen. At her nod, he approached her. The Unsullied kept their spears drawn as Arya carefully pulled the letter from the satchel. She caressed her father’s sigil one last time and handed the letter to the captain.

This close, she studied his face. They stared at each other for several moments. Eventually, he looked at the sigil on the letter, then back at her. “I can see it now, up close: you look exactly like your aunt Lyanna.”

Arya swallowed. It had been years since she’d heard the name. It felt like a punch to her gut. The captain waved his hand and the Unsullied finally stepped back. He turned and walked back to the queen.

“The girl speaks the truth, Your Grace. The sigil is authentic. And if that wasn’t enough, she bears the Stark look.” The queen took the letter and stared at it.

Arya shifted uncomfortably. “Would you mind reading it now?” Every eye in the room snapped up at her. “If it pleases Your Grace,” she added more like an afterthought. Gods, she could almost hear Sansa’s annoying voice in her head, chastising her for forgetting her manners. Truth was, she was dying to know the contents of the missive. It had taken years, but here she was, finally making good on the promise she had made to her father.

She was too far to tell, but Arya could swear that the queen was amused by her straightforwardness. Eventually, Queen Daenerys smiled and broke the sigil.

She wasn’t surprised when the letter proved to be lengthy—she expected as much from its weight.

A myriad of emotions passed on the queen’s face: from curiosity to anger, shock, and finally, relief. By the end, Arya thought the queen looked sad. She read it again. Then, she turned to the old captain.

“Ser Barristan, are you sure about the authenticity of the letter?” she asked, showing him the signature at the bottom of the parchment.

_Ser Barristan, of course!_ Arya hadn’t seen him since the Hand’s Tourney that was held in King’s Landing to honour her father. Somehow all roads seemed to lead to Daenerys Targaryen.

“I am certain, Your Grace,” he said.

“What does it say?” Arya voiced the question that was on everyone’s mind.

The queen stood and slowly walked until they were face to face. She wasn’t much taller than her, Arya realised. And for some reason, it made her smile.

“I believe it means we’re to set sail to Westeros soon. To the Wall,” Queen Daenerys smiled back and handed her the opened letter.

_Princess,_

_I find myself praying to the old gods and the new that this missive finds you well. Although I suspect that a Targaryen might not find the words of a Stark trustworthy, I hope you at least find it in yourself to read this letter until the last paragraph._

_I have many regrets, yet the past can’t be undone. All I can do is at least try to mend some of my mistakes, while there is still time._

_I do not know how much of the events leading to the rebellion you’ve been told, or for that matter, which version of it. The victors write history, after all. Yet, in this case, even the victor does not know the truth behind his own rebellion. As I am writing to you, I can finally admit that I could never count myself amongst the victors. Not only was House Stark one with the greatest losses, but none of it ever felt right—not the rebellion, not how it ended, not what came afterwards._

_You must have heard at least one version about the story of the Tourney at Harrenhal. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna, and thousands died for it—some say. Perhaps it is a crude simplification of it, but it is true. I do not know the reasons your brother must have had for the events at the Tourney—nor can I pretend to understand them. I only know that my sister cared deeply for him, and from what she told me, he cared for her just as much. I was one of the few people in the entire Seven Kingdoms to know that they truly loved each other._

_So many mistakes were made; we were all mere children—children with too many burdens. The irony of my words given your current position is not lost on me, Princess. From what I hear, you have been through so much already. Not a day goes by that I do not regret the circumstances around your birth and your subsequent life._

_They say all smiles died the day Prince Rhaegar set the crown of roses in my sister’s lap. But no one knew the way that simple gesture gave her hope. For once, she thought that maybe she did not have to be trapped in a marriage with Robert and wilt by his side. Lya found a kindred soul in your brother, but soon their friendship blossomed into something more and they ran away together. When Lya left, I knew it was of her own accord. None of us could have guessed the consequences of our choices then. My lies saved her but only for a few months longer. Soon, I knew I had to find her—not to take her from your brother, but to hope for a bloodless resolution to the rebellion. Yet Robert wouldn’t listen; and then he met your brother on the Trident. Unfortunately, you already know how that story ends._

_From their time together, your brother’s seed took root. By the time I reached Lya, it was too late for her. But not too late to make me promise to keep their son safe. So I did. I passed him as mine and kept him hidden from everyone—even my own Lady wife._

_Had I had the courage, I would have already told my nephew the truth. The gods know he deserved as much. But I was too scared for his and my own family’s safety. There isn’t enough parchment for all the words I wish I had said to him. I wish I had enough hindsight to have written down all the things I know and couldn’t say. But the night is short and my hours are numbered._

_It might be too late for me, but not for Jon. Find him, Your Grace. Find him and bring him home, next to you, where he belongs. Show him this letter as proof of his birth. My silence and cowardice pushed him into taking the black. As I am writing this, he is at the Wall._

_I’ll beg if I must: find Jon, and if neither of you shall want the Iron Throne, at least you’ll have each other._

_Since they were born, I tried passing many teachings to my children—and to Jon, whom I view as my own too—but I have always hoped that at least one would stick: the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. In my fear, I might have divided Jon from the rest of my family. So I beg you, Princess: be Jon’s pack. If the words are true for the wolves, they must ring true for the dragons as well._

_Be there for him in my stead. He will hate me for it, but it would make an old man feel less bitter if he knew at least his aunt was there for him._

_From uncle to aunt, I hope you can be there for our nephew where I failed him._

_Jon, my son. I desperately hope my words reach you one day. I know you must be hurt. Should you never forgive me, I could never condemn you. I hope you at least know this: to me, you will always be my son. I have loved and raised you as my own and no one can take that away from you. I am proud of the man you have become. Alas, I have too many regrets and not enough ink. Perhaps one day you’ll at least forgive me for keeping from you the truth about your mother for so long. I should have said and done so much more. The throne belongs to your family, my son. Trust Princess Daenerys, take back what’s yours. And if you decide not to—that’s alright; all I ever wanted for you was to be safe and happy. _

_But please, I urge you, do not let my past mistakes add to the tragic end of the Targaryens._

_With all my love,_

_Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell_

Arya read it again and again until the words became distorted in her watery gaze. The letter almost slipped from her trembling hands, and so she tightened her hold on the parchment, as she had done countless times to comfort herself on her journey, still ignorant of its unimaginable content. When she lifted her head, the queen was smiling at her.

Arya couldn’t help but smile back, her face almost splitting in half. She was going to see Jon again.

She was going home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, please leave a comment! 😊


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